Hello and welcome. I’m Lora Sirguini, a 43-year-old home cook living in the heart of North Carolina, just a stone’s throw from the Blue Ridge Mountains. I grew up in a small town where everyone knew each other’s names, and the best memories were made around the dinner table—usually with something bubbling on the stove and stories being passed around like side dishes.
I didn’t grow up dreaming of becoming a chef. In fact, for a long time, I didn’t even realize I was one. But I was always cooking. I learned the basics from my mother, who could turn a handful of ingredients into a meal that made you feel safe and seen. She never measured anything, just went by instinct and taste. And over the years, I found myself doing the same—cooking not by the book, but by feel, by memory, and by heart.
I spent most of my career in the nonprofit world, organizing community programs and helping people find support where it mattered most. But every evening, no matter how long the day was, I’d step into the kitchen, take a deep breath, and start chopping onions or stirring a pot of something slow and savory. Cooking became my way of unwinding, of expressing love, and of bringing people together.
Over time, friends and family started asking for recipes. I’d scribble them down on scraps of paper, and eventually, I started sharing them online—just little things at first: my mom’s slow-cooked chicken and dumplings, a buttery cornbread I perfected over a dozen batches, a peach cobbler that somehow always disappears before it cools. To my surprise, people began writing back, sending photos of their own versions, sharing their tweaks and stories. That’s when I realized—this is a kind of community too.
I cook with what I’ve got. I believe in using fresh, local ingredients when I can, but also making the most out of a humble pantry. My food isn’t fancy—it’s flavorful. It’s the kind of food that hugs you back. I love experimenting with old Southern recipes, giving them a modern twist or infusing them with flavors I’ve picked up from other cultures and kitchens I’ve had the joy of visiting. I’m especially proud of my herb-roasted chicken thighs with sweet potatoes and a touch of smoked paprika—simple, cozy, and deeply satisfying.
I’ve made mistakes. Oh, believe me. I’ve over-salted soups, underbaked pies, and once forgot to put sugar in a banana bread (let’s not talk about that one). But the kitchen has taught me that mistakes are just seasoning for better stories. Every burned crust and flopped batch taught me something new—not just about cooking, but about patience, creativity, and grace.
If you’re a home cook like me—someone who loves feeding others, who finds peace in a simmering pot, or who’s just starting to figure out what a “dash” means—I hope you’ll feel at home here. My kitchen is open, my stories are honest, and my recipes are made to be shared.
Thanks for being here. Let’s cook something beautiful together.